Imagining Reality
by little miss demosthenes
Summary: Twice more lethal than Ebola. Half more unreal than the typical Klein bottle. /Discontinued/
1. Regarding Pooh Bears, Breaches, and 72

**~Incoherency~**

**Hallinan's**** Household 231.17.55**

She had been waiting 72 hours for this.

Groggily, she sat up, rubbed her aching back, and smacked her alarm clock. She glanced at her digital watch.

2:34 A.M.

Terrific. It's already tomorrow.

She turned slowly, almost painfully around, making her blankets scrunch into a ball. She faced her collection of clocks that have been given to her for each birthday. One stood out among the rest, with a hideously deformed silhouette dumped on top of what seemed like a circle, stabbing the shadowy room. 

Her hand hovered hesitantly over it. Upon closer examination, the clump was revealed as a sleeping Pooh bear. With his large rump poking in the air. 

_A creative idea, really,_ her voice mumbled. _A slumbering media icon designed for little kids, "dreaming dreams of hunny". Laid gently upon a clock. _The voice became impatient, which usually wasn't a very good sign. _The company was so excited about __Winnie__ the Pooh, they even misspelled "honey"...!_

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and a secret resentment against him welled up. She tried hard to overcome this sudden onslaught of emotions by drinking the glass of tap water on her nightstand. Still, her thoughts ranted on.

_How dare you sleep when your _mistress_ is sleep-deprived, caffeine-driven, and anxious for computer results_! _How dare you, you miserable little git_! _If you were not so inanimate, I would tear you into pieces_!

Nothing helped. Not even thoughts of success drove away her fury. Foaly had once said that she resembled Opal in certain minute ways. "_That's a compliment, by the way. Feistiness isn't bad, really..."_

Someone who didn't know better would say that she was a goddamn computer genius. 

But it wasn't her computer skills.

Koboi, if out of Howler's Peak, could instantly defeat her programs in any language, including the Mud People's growing favorite, Perl. Then again, Koboi could beat virtually anyone at anything related to computers, seeing her former monopolizing reign in the world of faerie technology.

No. It wasn't sarcasm either. Apparently, she could be "very tender at times". 

Excuse me, but this is sentimentally..._nauseating_. Tender? To describe her?

What was it then? 

It was a terrible statement. A statement so terrible, it stood out in her fuming mind, like an error in some history textbook. 

It was her thirst for _learning_.

Only, Foaly had said it like her thirst for "knowing" or whatever.

And for once, she had gotten extremely annoyed with the centaur. She was not a person who gets annoyed easily. Foaly was actually one creature she seemed to love to be around with. 

It was as if she was floundered and disgusted that he had acted out of his personality. Or maybe she was embarrassed. Either way, that moment away from his usual sardonic nature took her aback.

Her hand returned to the bear. This time, without faltering, she smacked Pooh's behind as hard as she could.

After all, when Aunt Maggie the infamous insomniac was here, it had frightened the hell out of her with its obnoxious noises. At the wrong times, of course.

Besides, there is no need for her mum to know about her program. Well, all right, not hers. Foaly's. He'd been kind enough to lend her it.

Slowly, she crept out of bed and toward the computer room, carelessly toppling over a neatly stacked group of floppy disks. She squinted at the veiling darkness, inspecting the disks. Even in a cluttered heap, she could instantly recognize the mark of her little sister. The disks were arranged by their color, in a descending, rainbow order. 

Her heart jumped several beats. _Richard__ of __York__ gave battle in vain_.

There might have been a breach. There might have been a breach...

Oh _shit_.

A year ago, "_Miri__, gimme another!"_ was the response after receiving a factoring problem. Miriena made _sure_ to include irregular fractions, _pi_, and even a few complex numbers to confuse Mollie. All her traps were evaded. 

Miri honestly expected her younger sister prove the Riemann Hypothesis someday. Accidentally, as always. 

_Mollie's been in here before._

Not that it's any surprise to her that Mollie has been in the computer room. After all, the computer room was not private; Miri's dad delights in trading stocks with his Charles Schwab account, and Miri's mum enjoys reading "latest news flashes" from unreliable internet sources.

Mollie's been here millions of times. But the disks...that was a different matter...

Miriena rose to flick on the light, once again relieved that light travels soundlessly.

It was her sole compulsion to worry about the lighting in her house, especially during Christmas celebrations, and when no one but Lilac was home. 

She always half-expected for light to emit a noise when it traveled. On rainy days, the "sound" as always a spontaneous screech. On sunny days, it could be that light really clicks when it moves...

Miri sat promptly down at the revolving chair. Below her, a dignified, almost aristocratic, _meow!_ sliced through her thoughts. 

Surprised, Miriena stood up to see an indignant, white kitten on the chair.

"_Lilac_! You silly kitten..."

Once again, Lilac retorted indignantly, pouncing off the black, leathery furniture, which made it turn slightly before Miri resumed her focus on the computer. 

With unusual trepidation, her fingers pressed F6, and then Ctrl+Alt+7823. 

The computer, beginning to revive from a five hour doze, blacked out and spat out a blue screen, divided into multiple frames. 

A light smile touched Miri's lips. 

It quickly disappeared. Despite enormous efforts, she could not get the computer to respond to her commands. She smacked the Esc button repeatedly, hoping that, though the routes were disabled, this key would still operate correctly. 

If Miri looked up five minutes before, she would have seen the error message that had been flashing rather persistently. At 2:47 A.M. she glanced up in horror: 

FATAL ERROR 17.8 HAS OCCURRED. PLEASE TERMINATE ALL PROGRAMS IMMEDIATELY. OTHERWISE A COMPLETE WIPE OF THE HARD-DRIVE MAY TAKE PLACE.

"_D'Arvit_!" she swore, catching herself by surprise of her liberal Gnommish use.

She pressed her nose on the screen, her eyes narrowed to shield a sun that was not there. Her face hopelessly slid down, something she had seen all too much in dramatic, cliché movies of angst.

She had been waiting 72 hours for this.

Failure.

At the precise moment, a shrill bleep interrupted her trembling body. Miri turned around to see the black, irregular outline of the tiny, irregular figure, still in its mocking, irregular shape.

The last time she cried was during a mathematics competition.

Then, now.

------------------------------------------------------------------

_[] If you liked this - _

_Please read before proceeding..._

_However, you can skip this " disclaimer". ::rolls eyes:: Someday! _Someday_ I'll prove all of you wrong!_

1) I *used* to own Artemis Fowl. I've given it up now because everyone said I didn't. So now, I had to surrender it to Eoin Colfer, who is the [cough] supposedly [double plus uncough] rightful owner. All the money goes to him too. Disappearing or no. I hold no responsibility.

Weird...No one has ever protested that I own my own characters. But they glare at me when I say I own Artemis Fowl, which is [my] Eoin's character too...

2) You will understand the title and summary later in the story =P

3) You haven't read below yet.

_Instead_ of how most authors/authoresses tell you how much their own character is "not a Mary-Sue", I am here to proclaim loudly that my character _IS_ A MARY-SUE.

This is not a second-chance thing. This is my first time on this particular fic.

I have mixed feelings about this piece. One, I thought I improved with tense-changes. Two, I really enjoyed this setup. Three, though I love it, as I love all my writings [except ones that are forced out of me], I must admit I dislike it for the very fact that my OC is a Mary Sue. But letting that go would ruin the setup, which I like and do not wish to change. 

Ah, call me young and naïve and still have much to learn, which, of course I am an amateur, but I highly doubt it's the youngess and want-for-things-to-be perfect that is refusing - Four: I am willing to face fanfic readers fully and admit all my errors. Perhaps that was what I was aiming at.

If you can't stand the idea of reading a Mary Sue at all, please leave at once. My intention is not to cause anyone gloom or abhorrence in their day from reading my story.

I am so confused on what to think of this story, I would gladly welcome – in fact encourage flames!

BURN HER! BURN HER AT THE STAKE!!![sounds like Lemony Snicket, eh?]

Is perfectly fine. Please, FLAME this piece. Don't even give me all the "This fic has potential if only you stopped writing the Mary Sue" trash. I know it. But I want to write it. I am the authoress of my piece. I do as I wish, against most wishes of other people.

This is not reverse psychology. This is the insanity of a 13-year-old girl unleashed at its worst.

Guess what. If it looks like shit. It might very well [meant to] be shit.

You have been warned.

~~~

On lighter matters, I would like to extend my gratification to Madeleine Bennett who spent the entire choir period helping me pick out names, Sarah [apellido preferred to be undisclosed] for her support and also last-name-adjustings, and Alexandra Hudson for simply reading it, and giving out plot ideas like having Mulch marry one of the celebrities in my story.

As always, I appreciate any comments. As long as they are not falsely wrought to ignite some reaction from me.

PS [un chiste for those who know me and is in my Bio class]: AND THEY CAN'T SEE US.


	2. Regarding Technological Failures

**Random Grassy Hilltop 750.10.10**

Artemis Fowl was only all too familiar with technological failures. To be truthful, he was _experiencing_ a current technological failure at this very moment. And, as usual, it appeared in the least convenient of times. 

He, however, was not exactly familiar on how to remove an idiot, namely one of the opposite sexes, from embracing him like he was one of those wretched toys commonly seen at Target.

Tapping furiously in his laptop, and occasionally muttering a polite "yes", he frowned when he was not allowed access to one of many accounts he had. 

"What's your phone number?" the girl mumbled, just as a jet of wind sprayed her overly-shampooed hair everywhere at Artemis's face. 

Artemis curled his fingers into a fist and locked his teeth. _Patience_, he thought. And then,_ It is only your own fault that you became tangled in this hopeless inanity... _He tapped several times.

schwartzchildschizophrenicsingularityofcalciumcarbonate.

Access Denied.

illogicalelongatedpasswordthatshouldgetmeinthisdamnaccount.

Access Denied.

"Would you like me to force it out of you?" the girl asked, in some type of genetically altered playfulness. She meant the phone number. 

Artemis muttered something through gritted teeth.

"What?"

"Nothing," Artemis replied. He checked his configurations.

Across from Artemis and his clinging infatuation, Miri sat quietly uttering cries of dismay or cursing under her breath. Her hands clenched the LCD screen, not exactly the best thing to do to a newly bought DellPorttable[tm], but only understandable during periodic flares of anger. She too, though experienced in failures, refused to believe her current problem.

Her thumbs pressed against the display, forming a greasy depression, and spurts of liquid rainbow rippling around, occasionally across the screen.

It was only then did she realize another fatal, not to mention unstoppable situation: Mollie is home alone with the disks. Unsupervised by neither Mum nor Dad.

Her head felt light.

"Two options," she mumbled. "The first outcome is an explicit breach. The second..."

Miri trailed off. Not possible. There _was_ no "second outcome". Yesterday, she found at least three disks that were unlocked. They were:

holly's conversations [disk color green]

chix and juliet [disk color green]

the plans of mulch diggums and grub kelp [disk color orange]

Sure. Kids play and chew and _unlock _everything they can lay their hands on. Mollie was just another innocent, unsuspecting, _normal_ kid. Nothing in her hands can be ruined. 

"The second option," Miriena declared loudly, "is that nothing happened at all. To the disks, I mean. Internally."

After all, they have already been unlocked, which was reasonably external. You can't deny that. With Mollie, you never know if sliding two little knobs on the bottom corners of a floppy disk down meant anything or not.

There. She said it. Her own words comforted her, drowning out the immediate memory of finding leftover .exe files in the Floppy A drive.

Her eyes narrowed. What were executive files doing in the Floppy A drive? Mollie, despite all her brilliance, failed to refresh the computer, thereby letting Miri blatantly know that she has been feeding disks in and viewing the files.

This doesn't make sense. Mollie has never met a LEPrecon faerie, and doesn't understand the importance or privacy of these programs. She simply brought them up to satiate a childish curiosity. She didn't need to refresh the computer to hide what she was doing...

Then, Miri's eyes narrowed even more. They began to resemble Lilac's expression when she was neglected for another regular interval.

One run-time error after another popped up, stacking above each other on the screen. Each message emitted a B-flatish chord, and sounded like a sequence of low, echoing sonar beeps.

Miri caught Artemis looking over his laptop, cold amusement in his eyes. Then the girl's glance. She clung onto him like he was a my-size-Barbie. Quickly Miri turned the volume down, and there was a brief silence. 

She leaned back slowly. Watching in helplessness as one message popped up after another, asking her if "she would like to debug", perhaps hundreds of times.

After a few moments, she got extremely sick of seeing error messages. She slammed her screen down, another thing that wasn't exactly the best for her new Intel Pentium III Processor.

Her elbows rested on the laptop; face grimacing as a southeasterly wind whipped her hair and jacket forward.

_I was _supposed_ to be alone_. _Who is that boy across from me with an obsessive-looking girl adhering to him? Am I suffering from discreet paranoia because of this anxiety? Well! I have very good reasons to be exasperated. _Her voice was inclined to list out reasons to herself. _Firstly, I prefer to be alone when operating confidential programs. Secondly, I prefer to have park landscapes undisturbed by any lovesick couples on this surprisingly fair day. By the way: why am I speaking in such a formal tone? Should I consult a psychiatrist regarding my overly worrying habits? And regarding my frequent self-evaluations? And, most importantly, my tendency to include formality when addressing to - _

Miri sank down and hid her head in her arms. _Technological failures.__ That is the precise reason for my hyperactiveness. Absolutely no need to go to some pointless psychiatrist and definitely no need to use "adhering" when talking to myself.   _

She couldn't help but glance at the pale boy across from her. _He's frustrated as well_, she mumbled in her head. _He might as well be having difficulties reaching the same site I'm trying to get to_.

Miriena comforted herself twice in the day with false hopes. 

_Twice_. That's pretty impressive. 

Across from her shut laptop, Artemis tapped infuriatingly. One of many things could have happened. 

He eliminated modification immediately. Artemis modified his own password only according to specific dates coinciding with solutions to a mathematical equation. So far, he has not changed it yet. And, the idea of someone _else_ hacking into his account was absurd. No one could be that precocious.

His hardware malfunctioning was a possibility, but highly unlikely. Troubles with logging in were often associated with internal difficulty, or even software breakdowns. Besides, his laptop has never really failed him during its use.

That left, of course, the blame on the other side. The site and site owner[s] were probably experiencing a technological failure as well.

Things were going well to plan. Artemis had successfully and logically faulted the other side for his predicament.

He assured himself that this was his last attempt. After all, it was _their _delinquency.

1123581321345589144233377610987.

Access Denied.

1_1_2_3_5_8_13_21_34_55_89_144_233_377_610_987.

Access Denied.

He relaxed. It was unquestionably their problem.


	3. Regarding Aurum Est Potestas

Miri began to feel the heat coming from her overworked laptop. Her ears perked to hear something expected, her eyes scanned the terrain. Something made her extremely alert.

It was the lack of something.

Wind. 

She removed her elbows from the laptop and placed her hand on the insignia. Carelessly, she wiped away a few dust particles. Her hand then resumed its original place.

Miriena looked thoughtfully at it. She had never liked long nails - they made her unusually nervous. Painted long nails were even worse. They somehow seemed, to Miri, pretentious. Exhibitive, yes, but it was not an authentic display that would win her respect.

Consequently, Miri never went to a manicurist. A simple shearing, using clippers, was all that was ever needed to attend to her fingers and toes. 

Presently she was not unduly worried about fake nails. She drummed her trimmed fingers inaudibly over the letters of "extensa", the computer's trademark. Miri was more concerned with how to debug the site when she was not the proper owner of it.

She was tempted either to turn up the volume, or open the screen, so she could check on the sonar bleeps. Pulling out the LCD was too obvious. And being obvious would make her too easy. The unidentified boy, though many feet apart, sat directly in front of her. Slowly, her other hand crept to the side of the laptop. 

But she hesitated. 

Unstably, Miri risked a quick glance at Artemis. To her alarm, he looked up from his screen at well. He smirked at her, and Miri was rather speechless. Though…the smirk was more…cynical, than…smug.

_One more time, Miri. Why are you _not_ alone? The number one rule, broken. What happened to 'check the parameters'? Gotten lazy, haven't you?_

But she ignored her thoughts, which were apparently bent on lowering her self-esteem. There wasn't enough time to chastise herself.

_Well_, she murmured. Her voice behaved irrationally nice.

_He might have gotten in. There should be no excuse on why I can't do the same. _Determined, the fingers on her other hand dialed the knob.

There was a moment of waiting.

At first, she groaned. She did not hear anything from the laptop, and anticipated the failure of the speakers.

Then, she sighed in relief. Because, a shrill chime ensured her the healthy condition of the audio outputs. Which, in turn, means that the run-time errors had finally gotten tired of popping ceaselessly over the screen.

She recognized the chime instantly. Someone was trying to contact her via yahoo messenger.

Miri had no choice but to pop up the screen. Otherwise, the boy and his, eh, girlfriend would definitely notice. 

Upon remembering something, Miri rolled her eyes. Foaly was right. She was paranoid. 

She pressed a function to disable the snooze, and brought up, from the hazing monitor, a small window. It read:

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:24:57****)**: Having technological issues, I presume.

Miri frowned. 

_Gold is power_. 

She did not know who aurum_est_potestas was. She never had a friend named under such a pseudonym, unless Krista changed her name again.

Unsatisfied, she pulled out her yahoo messenger and saw browneyed_innocent93 offline. aurum_est_potestas was not Krista.

Approximately ten feet away from Miriena, Artemis Fowl smiled, despite having a girl clasping onto him.

His usual self disliked immensely the idea of conversing via chat, mainly because of the wide use of chatspeak, and the popular trend of incomplete sentences. Artemis would have preferred a less crude, and perhaps more elegant way, such as contacting through cellular phone.

Lately, however, the business associates Artemis encountered were…on the move. Frequently, shall one add, on the move.

Most of them did not own either a pager or cellular phone, because these particular bands of people were not exactly wealthy, but knew wealthy people.

Such as their bosses. 

And establishing a congenial relationship with them was crucial, if Artemis decided to acquaint with higher levels.

Only recently did Artemis acquire an account of his own, pushed by the widening use of various _chatting_ programs.

aurum_est_potestas.

Perfect.

As usual, today was involuntarily deplorable. Artemis was not able to successfully skip boarding school, and Butler had fallen ill. Currently, Tania Needlemeyer was also adhering to his body, a rather unpleasant thing, if southeasterly winds blew large quantities of perfume in your face.

But, he had been observing a rather interesting girl in front of him. For the past half-hour, she has been in constant anxiety - slamming her LCD screen, groaning sardonically, and drifting off into space.

What could he do? 

A cheerful message from a criminal mastermind should brighten her day considerably. 

Artemis allowed Tania to lay her head against his neck. He watched, through sharp, blue eyes Miri's keystrokes.

Miri, from her LCD screen, looked at the boy. 

_"No shame in being paranoid,"_ Foaly's voice came in her ear. _"Geniuses of all eccentric sorts have classic symptoms of paranoia. You remind me of various reclusive geniuses. Me, for one,"_ Foaly smugly began, _"Opal, as I have said before, and an Irish boy by the name of __Artemis__ Fowl. The second, to be precise."_

She tapped on her keyboard.

**imaginary_number6 (****5:25:44****)**: gold is power? from my father's observations, it seems that the value of gold has dropped recently. in case you're interested, he urged me to buy Sun Microsystems for 500 shares. i refused, resulting in missing out on a good profit. who are you anyway? you have interrupted my debugging process.

Artemis was close to speechless. This has not happened very often in his life. Once in London, when meeting with Jon Spiro. Twice when he was five. 

Now, fifteen.

His reflexes pulled him back. Somewhere deep in his mind, he had expected this exact reply. He was therefore, and technically, _not_ speechless. He was amused.

_Today was involuntarily deplorable_, he remembered. He replaced 'deplorable' with 'intriguing'. The wind rose again, knocking hair into his face. Blindly, he responded.

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:26:01****)**: I am sincerely empathetic that you did not buy Sun Microsystems as your father suggested. I am also apologetic that I have interrupted your debugging process.

Foaly's rambling was heard again. _"Opal, as I have said before, and an Irish boy by the name of __Artemis__ Fowl. The second, to be precise."_

_"__Artemis__ Fowl? Doesn't he live in one of the top five richest Irish families'? I might have seen him once, torturing another psychologist. Serves her right, though. She was a rather pretentious lady."_

_"That wouldn't be surprising." _

Foaly snickered.

_"Give me a mug shot," _Miri heard herself say.

_"Ahh...let's see...rather skinny, raven-haired, keenly clear eyes, pale complexion. A, well, handsome boy on the whole. Though, that thought has never struck me until now. I'm surprised why the ladies haven't called in yet..."_

_"Isolation doesn't exactly help in matters of social life," _Miri responded.

Yet, she was staring at him with another girl, practically sitting on his lap. 

But it made sense. 

She smiled. Time to play a game.

**imaginary_number6 (****5:26:39****)**: apologies registered on my computer. in 4 minutes, i'll have a few members of the cia dragging you to their departments. as soon as i gather the coordinates of your position. please, refrain from moving. as far as…your identity, which i have observed that you chose not to reveal in your last message...don't tell me. i already know. Artemis Fowl.

Of course. She didn't _really_ know. 

Reactions are crucial in analyses. 


	4. Regarding Blue Cups and Sun Microsystems

Foaly was generally correct. And Artemis Fowl has been described by him as quite expressionless, unless on certain extreme cases, like the meeting with his father. Therefore, this description should be accurate.

Miri decided that having someone know your name but you not knowing them was too mild for a character like Artemis's. And, being known for her "tricks" to find out more about specific people, Miri decided to take the chance:

If the boy shows more emotion than necessary, well, he isn't Artemis Fowl, no matter how good of an actor he is. 

Her voice disagreed. _Bad plan_, she thought. _There's some flawed logic here. If he really were __Artemis__, he would be "shocked" because someone knew him. Now since the real __Artemis__ wouldn't be shocked, if the boy is shocked, then he isn't the real __Artemis__. Contradicting information. Really, Miri. Getting more and more slacked here, are we?_

Miri winced at herself. Her voice was right, and for the most part, true. It was like having Foaly with her at all times, only Foaly was actually kinder. If any smug insult needs to be conveyed, the centaur does it more indirectly.

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:27:02****)**: Very good. I am Artemis Fowl. Interesting deductions you must have made to arrive at that conclusion. And you, I believe, are Miriena Hallinan. Am I correct?

Miri expected this to happen sometime. After all, he knew her yahoo identification.

**imaginary_number6 (****5:27:15****)**: you are correct. how you know my messenger ID is still a nice question to be answered.

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:27:33****)**: Simple. Krista, your friend, was kind enough to provide me with your email address. I happened to notice that it ended with 'yahoo.com', so I naturally assumed that you might have a messenger account. And, obviously, you do.

Miri bit her lip. This Artemis Fowl boy was serious. Nevertheless, she carried on with her game.

**imaginary_number6 (****5:28:25****)**: this gives me three things: you know me, because you know Krista is my friend. you are after my email address and my messaging account to either communicate with me or perhaps hack into my system. or do things under my name. you do not want me to know, either because you were going to do something that shouldn't be disclosed, or you wanted to astound me with your spontaneous and apparent knowledge. otherwise, you would have just asked me. or perhaps, you got it from another source and simply said "Krista" to lead me on. on all three [four] means, you are, frankly, not succeeding very well.

Artemis read her message. _Clever_, he thought. _Almost too clever. I feel like talking to my own thoughts. Of course, she didn't reveal everything she was thinking. A person like her wouldn't._

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:28:57****)**: Charming, really. May I remind you that you are not succeeding, either, in trying to evoke some response from me. Why else would you have told me your thought process, eh?

**imaginary_number6 (****5:29:16****)**: i drank my dose of paranoia today from my favorite blue cup. i realize that fact completely; however, i honestly never expected you to respond to my antics at all. not to switch topics so soon, but who _is_ that girl that is, eh, snuggling with you?

The Irish boy was amused. After all, she did not say how she identified him in the first place. The girl in front of him has not been formally declared as Miri, and vice versa. 

_Paranoia, eh? There are more reasons to suspect your long lecture on what you "thought" I was thinking. Your speech wasn't _your_ thought process at all. Humans see what they want to see. Classic weakness point, to your supposed advantage. _

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:29:30****)**: Interesting how you claim that I have a girl with me. I do not believe I have a webcam connected.

**imaginary_number6 (****5:29:37****)**: ::laughs derisively:: you're in front of me.

**imaginary_number6 (****5:29:42****)**: you're in denial.

Behind the comfort of her Intel Pentium III Processor, Miri was far from confident. She was, in fact, becoming frightened. The flimsy LCD screen was all the separated her from this boy named Artemis Fowl. The game that she launched did not give her the traditional upper hand. Here was a complete stranger that she knew only through Foaly's translations, and he was just as, if not, smarter than she was.

For once in that day, she was extremely glad to have a computer in front of her. Being exposed during this type of situation was not her preference.

Peculiarly, Artemis Fowl felt almost the same. He was accustomed to expressions of confusion and mocked understanding from anyone he met. Perhaps he was too conceited to envision someone who was his intellectual equal. Whatever the reason, this girl was able to throw information back at him, in the same deceitful way. 

He was not doing anything confidential or _radically_ illegal, though in a sense, he was. Consequently, his feelings were not anything of fear or remorse, but a mix between complete surprise and anger. He tried extremely hard to suppress a shaky laughter. _I'm in denial_, he remembered. Two years ago, he had said that himself to a certain psychiatrist named Dr. Po.

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:29:55****)**: I am merely projecting my anxieties to you. I am uncertain in which area of spacetime I inhabit, and I am not even sure about my actual existence, or the girl that is presumably with me.

**imaginary_number6 (****5:30:22****)**: ::sighs:: well, i am sorry to inform you this, but, i do not know the answers to your apprehensions either. do tell, however, the name of your [girl]friend that is presently sitting on your lap. i'm only curious why an antisocial boy like you would get involved with the opposite sex. maybe i should take lessons from you or something.

By now, both parties, excluding Tania, were thoroughly shaken. 

Miri desperately wanted to go home. She promised Mollie something about parabolas and teaching her how to graph them. 

Artemis longed to peel Tania away from him and run straight toward Fowl Manor. He had some affairs regarding contact lenses to clear with Butler. 

Of course, these were only excuses to disperse the tense atmosphere. This conversation was becoming ludicrously appalling. 

No matter how clever he was, Artemis did not enjoy the idea of someone knowing his personality, even if it was vague.

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:30:51****)**: Her name is Tania Needlemeyer. Sometimes, it isn't my fault that girls cling onto me. I must admit my parents are becoming annoyed at incessant telephone calls. What more can I say? I am only attractive to them.

The wind blew again, sweeping Tania's hair back. 

Miri read her screen. A courteous _ding_ warned her of low battery and imminent power failure. 

**imaginary_number6 (****5:31:17****)**: well, if you ever need someone to rid you of female nuisances, just ask me. =)

Tania turned around and attempted to kiss Artemis. She had not been following his online conversation; she had been closing her eyes or looking at the sky. 

Artemis's fingers slipped the keyboard, but he strove to extend his dexterity skills. He entered in his last reply to Miri while appeasing Tania.

"425," he began. "1849."

Of course, he never gave away his mobile phone number. That would be suicide.

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:31:40****)**: Actually, I enjoy most girls' propinquity. As long as I do not lose my virginity, I plan to bask in their attention.

Which was a complete lie. Most of the time, he manipulates them to meet his own ends.

Well, maybe a fraction of truth. Artemis has not yet successfully evaded the consequences of teenage hormones.

**imaginary_number6 (****5:31:58****)**: tell me why I find that not surprising. well, it has been a tremendous pleasure in conversing with you, Artemis. however, i must head home to deliver a math lesson to my little sister. therefore, i must also bid you goodbye.

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:32:19****)**: I shall see you again.

Miri shivered. Statements that held finality did not agree with her often. 

**aurum_est_potestas (****5:32:35****)**: And on another matter. Listen to your father next time. 

Miri paused. She revved up the urging tone her father had displayed during the light bicker about Sun Microsystems.

**imaginary_number6 (****5:32:53****)**: i shall.

**(Yahoo! Messenger: imaginary_number6 has logged out)**

_I, too, you again, Artemis Fowl_, her voice mumbled. _Next time, I'll be ready_.


	5. Regarding UNIX, Radon, and Lilac

**~Ebola~**

**Hallinan's Household 359.63.15**

The same characters surfaced. Mollie scrolled down and was dismayed, not to mention impatient. 

She picked up one of the disks she unlocked, and waited for the computer to read it again. It was odd, really. Usually, if she opened a non-text file on Word, she would see symbols like $,€, and -. But instead of the normal numbers and signs, she found herself looking at alien characters that weren't even in bizarre Wingding fonts. 

It was like...hieroglyphics - a completely new language, and a story was written in this indecipherable script.

Gnommish.

Of course, she did not know this. Mollie was merely waiting for her sister's return, and the promised explanation about graphing curves when there is no "slope".

A grunt from the floppy drive signified the completion of reading the file. Mollie sat on the revolving chair and put her face inches away from the screen. Her eyes scanned the file. She clicked the mouse to move the cursor away from the main body of...figures...

Only the word "Frond" was spelt in the normal English alphabet. The rest were acorns, three-dimensional boxes, waves, dots, and crescent moons.

"Frond" was the command word that Miri programmed any application to read as the starting process of writing in Gnomish. Much like script language="javascript"!--xxx-- was to tell most browsers to start reading in javascript. 

Mystified, Mollie clicked out of Microsoft Word, spat out the green floppy disk, and threw it into a cardboard box marked "backups of miri's programs".

She pounced on the sofa with Lilac and switched on the television. The Disney Channel seemed much easier to comprehend. _I can always ask Miri about them_, she mumbled, and petted the cat.

Only five minutes elapsed before a buzzer rang.

"Hallinan residence, please say your name," Mollie shouted, as she had heard her parents say many times before. 

But there was only static and an occasional crackle. The voice-activated speaker eventually went dead from the lack of response. 

Mollie sighed and ignored whoever was outside to watch Duck Tales.

The buzzer rang again. Lilac perked her ears up, and Mollie was inclined to respond.

"Hello. This - is - the - Hallinan's. Please - say - who - you - are." She made sure to enunciate every word.

Again, the speaker showed no signs of life other than trees, grass, and insects paddling around the house. 

Mollie got up and turned down the volume. She plopped Lilac back on the sofa, creeping cautiously down the short flight of stairs.

She opened one of the double doors and found no one outside. Upon pulling the door wider, a sharp breeze came in, and Mollie shut the door. _Mother hates flies_, she remembered. 

On the white sofa, Lilac began to go insane. 

"_Meowww_!" 

The loudest meow Mollie has ever heard. Lilac was usually silent, and complained only by haughtily lifting her head up, or projecting narrowed eyes. 

The kitten pounced from the sofa, leaving a fresh paw mark on the leather, and started running around the living room. 

Mollie dodged sideways to let the cat pass. Claws clacked the wooden floor, slid, and then regained balance again. Mollie rolled her eyes and sat on the sofa. She turned up the volume to drown out the cat.

Minutes later, Lilac stopped and pawed back to her seat. Her ears were drooped, and her tail narrowly missed the floor. The cat's usual aristocratic composure was deflated. 

Mollie, once again, rolled her eyes. She applied herself to watching the animated television.

_I wonder if Miri programs in weird symbols_, Mollie mumbled, _because I've never seen her write like that. But when her door shuts, we all know she's up to something secretive. And she got really mad at me once for going in her room without telling her._

A fierce shattering erupted upstairs.

The cat's nose twitched, and Mollie shut off the television. Mrs. Tramp, the next door neighbor, was beginning to mow her lawn anyway. The sound would drown Uncle Scrooge out.

She clambered the stairs, not caring whether Lilac followed or not. The steps were still rather wide for Mollie's stature. After all, she was only five, and skinny for her age. 

Mollie scowled. _I'll be six in two months_, her voice declared proudly. 

"Meow," Lilac agreed.

Presently, Mollie pushed the oak door gently open. Her sister cleaned the bedroom recently, though crates of programming books littered the floor. The old-fashioned window brought in continuous fresh air, making the curtains billow wildly.

Mollie halted. For a moment, she observed the decorative black bars holding up the lace. They had little swirls on the end and misshapen flowers in the middle. But the left side of the pattern was shimmering slightly, like the background of a mirage.

She squinted. _It isn't the heat_, she reasoned. _It's seventish outside_.

Then she observed the floor. Along with a book titled UNIX in a Nutshell, she found pieces of a broken turquoise vase. Fifteen minutes ago, Mollie swore the vase was in tact. She had passed Miri's bedroom on the way to the bathroom.

The origin of the noise was here. Although the vase _had_ been tucked snugly away from the edge of the nightstand, and was _constantly_ under watch. Apparently, this vase was from a highly prestigious antique store that Mother bought from or something.

Mollie wanted to roll her eyes. 

But Lilac went crazy again. The cat bolted straight toward the vase pieces, sliding across the porcelain, and meowing frantically from the sharp cuts the pieces made in her fur.  

Mollie watched as the cat banged into one wall after another. She was unable to find the situation humorous any more.

A loud _buzz_. Mollie scampered down the stairs.

"Hallinan residence, plea - "

"Mollie, It's me. Open up because I'm dropping my laptop..."

Mollie ran and swung the door open. The laptop flew in, landing in her small hands.

"Good catch," Miri remarked, towing in her backpack. She shut the door and surveyed the living room. "Where's Lilac?"

Mollie was deprived of a civilized answer.

"Ehhhhh...Miri..."

Miri started toward the stairs. A bundle of chemistry homework required completion. 

"What? Is she throwing a fit?"

"Well...yes...and, eh, the _vase_ broke. You know Mum will kill us."

There was a brief pause. Paper was being drawn out, or a notebook was being flipped.

"The turquoise one? And Lilac broke it?"

Mollie squirmed uncomfortably. She walked over to the sofa and plunked herself down.

"Lilac was with me watching TV. Then, I heard this awful shattering noise in your bedroom. I went up and saw the vase in pieces. And _then_ Lilac went crazy. She's still in there."

The last comment was slightly unnecessary, as Miri was already in her room. A white cat ran insanely around, and blue porcelain was scattered everywhere. The shimmer by the bar seemed to have disappeared.

"Tikhii, _tikhii_ Lilac!" Miri took out a pencil. She observed Lilac, and quickly moved a book away from the cat's path. The Art of Iris Cams, courtesy of Foaly. 

"¿Por qué tienes demasiado prisa?"

Then, to Mollie:

"Are you sure Lilac wasn't up there before you started watching TV?" 

"I'm sure," Mollie said. She thought for a second. "Dad said this house was _haunted_ before we moved in. It could be a -a _ghost_ or something..."

Upon looking around the room, Miri noticed a little shiver of air by her closet door.

She laughed tentatively and kicked her Unix book out of the way. "Well," she called, "I think it's gravity playing tricks on you again."

Her first lie of the day. Not bad.

Usually she made four or five already.

The shiver moved away from Lilac. It hovered to its original place, above the black bar.

Lilac unexpectedly hopped into Miri's lap, and the girl turned her chair around. Her hands restrained the cat while her eyes examined the shimmer.

"Mind unshielding now, Captain Short?"

Immediately, the shimmer emitted a pneumatic hiss. LEP Captain Holly Short was now in the visible spectrum, wrestling with her mechanical wings. Finally, she descended onto the wooden floor.

"Very good, Miriena. You've grown since I had last left you."

Behind the entrance into Miri's bedroom, Mollie gaped at the Recon faerie.


	6. Regarding Recuerdas

Holly Short looked different. Then again, any four-footed, pointy-eared, and technologically-winged faerie looked different than most humans.

However, it was quite unusual for the People to have a pale complexion or an absolute lack of magic, and Captain Short possessed both qualities while standing across from Miriena Hallinan.

"Of course I've changed," Miri retorted. "Do you expect me to remain only slightly above your height and type HTML all day?"

Her voice, even in her own ears, sounded cold.

Holly searched Miri through her visor. She ignored the various pictures Foaly was sending into her helmet. Pictures of the Hallinan family and rooms, as well some programs Miri created.

"If that was the case, I would be content. At one point in life, I thought I welcomed change. Now, I honestly don't think so."

Miri put her pencil in her drawer, and pushed her hair away from her face. Things were moving sluggishly slow. The grandfather's clock downstairs struck six, but the sound moved with abnormal laziness. Mollie, unsure of what to do, came in gingerly, and Miri draped an arm around her little sister.

"Is that so?" The girl sarcastically mouthed. "Holly Short. Resorting to all this sentimental talk? Things must be _very_ desperate underground, then. Just out of curiosity, were you even _invited_ in my house?"

"About thirty minutes ago, your sister said something about wanting sprites coming in and playing Monopoly Junior with her. Faeries - sprites, close enough."

Miri glanced at Mollie. Her sister, however, was entranced at the appearance of the Captain. Mollie did not attempt to respond.

"I...see. Now...before we launch into a deep faerie discussion, what happened to your skin? Did Foaly invent an _un_tanning parlor for the People to blend in with humans now?" 

Holly was unable to speak for several moments. She allowed herself to sit on the edge of Miri's bed, looking at her fingers. One of the index digits looked mended. 

"Tell her," Foaly urged in her ear. "We need her."

Holly looked up to see Miri scanning the periodic table, taped above the lamp. The girl wore an almost bored expression, but her face was covered with thoughts.

"Me recuerdas a Artemis Fowl," the Captain said gently. Her Spanish was accented, but Miri understood. She turned around to face the faerie.

"¿Verdad? Yo miré a él hoy, cuando trabajando en mi computadora. He's nothing like me."

Holly smiled sadly. "How is he? I presume he was working on his computer as well?"

"Why would _I_ have any idea how he is? We only briefly relayed to each other over the internet. He is a highly amusing person."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

Miri motioned at the faerie. "Your skin...?"

The Captain clasped her hands together. "Before I explain about my skin - "

" - You want to make sure I can help. Or I _will_ help, for that matter," Miri finished. "The People needs help from the Mud Men. Why else would a revered member go aboveground to seek out a girl, namely one who knows about the Haven? 

And of course, you wouldn't explain if I refused. The less I know about the faeries, the better off they would be. 

Why else would Holly Short, a sarcastic and rebellious faerie by nature, subdue her temper? I'm not blind. So, don't give me that wallowing despair trash. If you want help, say it directly. If you haven't noticed, I'll tell you now: I don't buy pity. I never sell it either."

Holly struggled to keep from grinning.

"You remind me _all too much_ of Artemis," she said again.

"I'm nothing like him," Miri responded, clenching her teeth. She appeared to be bored again, and quickly wrote down the atomic number for radon. 86. Her eyes fastened on her homework. They didn't like to meet Holly's.

"We need Artemis too," the Captain added.

Miri stopped her pencil strokes and began to laugh.

"You need him too?" she said, between laughs. "How ironic. How _ironic!_ You wiped his memory clean, and now you need him."

Miri paused and looked straight into Holly's eyes. She left her fears behind momentarily.

"Do you know, Holly," she said, much quieter, "do you know what I like best about you? You bring me the darkness of society right into the comfort of my house. You remind me what the world is like out there. If it wasn't for human nature, there wouldn't be distrust. If there was no distrust, there would be no need for mind-wiping.

I think I've been trapped in my illusions far too long. I retreated, into the world of commanding computers. The computers _I_ own do not have a personality, nor do they have thought. We trust each other. But you, Holly Short, brought the cynical reality back into my life.

Do you think I forgot about the murder of my best friend?

So tell me, Holly, why didn't you wipe my mind? Did I look any more trustworthy to you? If I'm _so_ like the great Artemis Fowl, why am I free to remember about the People?

Thank you, Holly. You can leave my house right now. You may excuse yourself and your silly LEP helmet outside my window. I don't need to see files about my life when I live my life. And Foaly, you can stop the Unix stuff. I don't think it means anything to Holly.

Please excuse _me_ while I finish my Chem homework up and teach Mollie a bit about parabolas. I think I am currently pressed for time."

In Holly's earpiece, Foaly cracked up.

"That's my Miri," he said. "I know exactly what she's about to say after this. Stay right where you are, Holly. Look shocked and demoted, but don't leave. Watch."

To Captain Short, and Mollie, who was standing nearby, Miri seemed withdrawn and resentful, waiting for the faerie to leave the house.

But Miri knew her routine so well, even those who knew _her_ couldn't be sure if her tantrums were for real.

Unfortunately, the pretended burst of cynicism stung her mind. _Damn it_, her voice mumbled. _Dealings with __Holly__ always result into actual submersion!_

Miri had dug up old wounds that were almost healed. The half-formed scars bit into her like a parasite. Her eyes, which were extremely dry seconds before, became moist and threatened to overflow.

She swiveled around, one arm around Mollie, and faced the Captain.

"Did you really think I meant that, Captain Short?" Miri managed a bitter smile. "After being with you for so long, especially in the shuttles?"

The girl walked over, shuffling her blue slippers inaudibly over the smooth wood. She laid a hand on Holly's shoulder, still holding that melancholic smile.

"I hope I've made my point clear. I am in no way like Artemis Fowl. True, he may be smarter than I am, but I certainly have a different way of handling things."

Holly was enticed. Foaly, on the other hand, laughed.

"See what I mean?" the earpiece sounded. "Clever girl, isn't she? Reactions are the best teachers. Probably her motto."

From the centaur's words, the faerie became relieved.

"I'm not too sure about that remark regarding his unwavering intelligence," she smiled at Miri. "He may have met his match at last."

The girl took out a hair tie and casually bundled her hair up. She was pondering over something, but was reluctant to reply. "I also hope you didn't believe I _really_ had a best friend that had been murdered." 

But her eyes told the truth. 

"If you did, you are a strong girl, even by Recon standards." 

Mollie stayed where her sister sat before. She approached the Captain shyly, her own green slippers treading the floor. _The symbols_, Mollie mumbled in her head, _maybe __Holly__ knows about the symbols. _

Miri extended her arm to Mollie, and looked slightly bemused. "Oh really? Care if I joined the LEP someday?"

"Never. Root might like a girl like you." Holly winked, and from the Operations Booth, Foaly chortled. "That's possible? For Root to like anyone?"

Upon ignoring the centaur's comment, the faerie sighed, and looked at her fingers again. After half a minute, her earpiece talked again.

"Did Julius send you this far aboveground just to mope and chat about Recon standards with a Mud Girl? I hope you still remember our mission." 

Holly heard the tapping of a keyboard.

"No," she mouthed. And then, "Will you help us, Miri?"

Miri looked at the LEP Captain. "Of course. Anything within my ability."

"Which is a lot," the centaur added complacently. "She was born with true talent. Under my care, she flourished."

The faerie took a deep breath, endured the yearning to crush her earpiece, and faltered.

"The story behind my skin is exceedingly long."

Miri glanced at her watch. "Three minutes. Spill."

"For the second time in the Haven's history, we had a Lockdown. The water levels remained at the set standards, so this can only mean two things thing: quarantine, and discovery.

You can probably see why, throughout the years, the People have never worried about disease. After all, all of us have magic, and when it runs out, we complete the Ritual. We have our own strength, the help of warlocks, and the latest technology. 

And since our latest _ping_, which came from Artemis Fowl, no Mud Man has disturbed us. Our securities have tightened considerably since the C Cube. It was the quiet life for us after the mind-wiping incident. At least, we thought it was, until Koboi escaped."

"Opal Koboi?" Miri searched through the folds of her mind. "That ingenious pixie in Howler's Peak?"

The earpiece was unable to resist another laugh. "Ingenious? _Hah_! _Ingenious_…that Miri amuses me more than any other creature…"

"Yes. Opal Koboi managed to escape, and it surprised me that no one ever expected her to. She _had_ obtained the greatest security measures in her corporations, so obviously, she could crack those security measures as well. We never really worried about her. She seemed of minor importance in our daily lives. Honestly, we're beginning to trust our own technology too much. Howler's Peak isn't exactly foolproof.

Unfortunately, this isn't the worst news. Carla Frazetti, Spatz Antonelli's goddaughter, has managed to team up with Koboi. Although Opal isn't exactly our kin, she knows everything about the Haven to be of guaranteed threat to us.

Carla currently knows of our existence and has threatened to reveal this information to general public if we do not hand ourselves over to their rule. Obviously, we are not under any unwanted reign, as I am able to freely venture aboveground, and communications have not been cut.

However, the Antonellis are not the only Mud People who know about us. Carla has notified Dr. Fredrick Descarev, a man who specializes in biological weaponry and nanotechnology, regarding the faerie business and his potential contribution. Of course, abundant money was involved in the affair.

To ensure that we have no other choice but surrender, Fredrick was ordered to mutate a dangerous viral strain that usually affects only humans and monkeys."

Holly drew a breath.

"Do you know what...Ebola Zaire is?"

Miri turned pale. Ebola Zaire was a strain of filovirus that causes severe hemorrhaging, or internal bleeding, in both humans and monkeys. It has been known to jump species without effort, and originated in the depths of central Africa. Not only does one crash and bleed out, the progressions to death are filled with suffering and impediment. A patient would experience high fever, deadened skin, brain damage, slow deterioration of the mind, paralysis, and severe pain before he reaches death. The fatality rate was nine out of ten. 

"Yes."

"Good. Now you have something to compare to. Everyone in the Haven has been infected with a virus that attacks only those of the faerie race. The infection behaves like a mix between Ebola Zaire and HIV. The most frustrating thing is that there _is_ a definite cure. The antidote, however, lies in the hands of Dr. Descarev."

The girl did not respond for several moments. Suddenly, it wasn't about the unlocked disks anymore. The greatest challenge has just been thrown to her mind.


	7. Regarding Nostalgia, Quartz, and Acorns

**Fowl Manor 692.85.87**

Having Tania Needlemeyer over for dinner was a very delicate matter. The recipient did not desire to spend the evening with her, and would much rather curl up with a book or extend his researches. But, there was no other way in which the recipient could fulfill his needs, please his parents, and get them off his back with without this action.

It was, "Why don't you spend the night at your friend's house?" or "You should join a sport, Arty!" and "Here's a gift for that _lovely_ girl at St. Ivanovna!" since Artemis's father's return. Both of his parents were constantly annoying him to do things a typical teenager would do. When all else failed, there was one thing they held on to: girls.

Thus, it was why tonight, Juliet was showering Artemis with social advice, and Butler was forced to postpone an appointment concerning chirography. 

"You know that you have to talk with her and stuff," Juliet reiterated, "so tell me, what is this Tania girl like?"

Artemis groaned. "You don't want to know."

"No, really, you've gotta make sure your parents believe you. You can't imagine how _thrilled_ your mum is since she found out you 'like' this girl."

"I can conceive that perfectly well." He paused to roll his eyes. "I only wish I don't have to go through this torture. I can only take so much."

Juliet hooked a pair of new earrings to her ears. They were long strands of gems that jangled when she moved. "You know that this is for your own good. If you disliked her so much, why didn't you choose another girl to bring home?"

"I think you have it wrong. It's why didn't _she_ choose a different boy." 

"Well..." Juliet faced the mirror to adjust the jewelry. "You do realize that millions of girls have been calling the house...and you should have just answered to one of them..."

Artemis got up and walked around the room. He observed his former bodyguard's sister as she fixed her earrings. _Polished quartz_, he immediately reasoned. _They should be the same types of quartz, only they're glossed with silver and violet dyes after tumbling_. He stopped watching and continued to pace. "Do tell _why_ millions of girls have been calling." 

"They find you attractive. Do you want to know a frightful truth?" Juliet grinned in her reflection and started to fashion her hair.

"No."

"Well, I'm gonna tell you anyway. Okay. This ditzy girl - "

" - They're all ditzy." 

"Whatever. So _one of_ the ditzy girls is laughing with her friend or something on school grounds. Suddenly, her friend's like, 'Do you know this boy named Artemis Fowl?' and she said, 'Yes, I do.' Then her friend said, 'Do you like him?' and the girl's like, 'I've had a crush on him since last year, but he has a girlfriend now.' She sighed nostalgically. 'He's incredibly cute. It's just - he never notices me.'" Juliet snickered. "That girl sighed nostalgically! She _sighed_, okay? That's how badly they're after you."

Artemis was thoroughly revolted. He didn't know whether to laugh derisively or be disgusted, although he did know that he felt both emotions. The boy locked his teeth for the second time in the day. Frankly, he wanted to kick Juliet, or yell some snide remark at her, but all he could do was walk away to his own bedroom. "Do _not_ disturb me, as I am going to meditate, and force myself to forget this _charming_ story you have fed me."

A door slammed.

_Irascible_, Juliet thought, and rolled her eyes. She had learned that word from Artemis when she was sixteen. That would have made him eleven.

***

_What Juliet does not know is my true purposes in associating with Tania. Why wouldn't I invite someone whose company I enjoy more? Imbecilic people are much easier to manipulate than those who can understand Newton's third law._

Concentration was one of Artemis's talents. The irony was that he could go for hours without thinking anything at all, or, when the situation arises, entirely devoting himself to one thing.

Today did not seem to be natural. As much as he tried to calm his mind, he was set towards reviewing everything that had happened today, including the despicable story Juliet conveyed to him.

_For example, _he continued, _that girl named Miriena would be exceedingly hard to control, because she would see what I was trying to do, and possibly backfire my plans. How was it that she could respond with such adroitness to my questions? I have not met such a clever girl, or maybe I have underestimated everyone too often. But for once in my life, I feel endangered. Someone in the world could outsmart me if she was given the opportunity. To make matters worse, that person is two months younger than I am._

Artemis had done commodious research over Miriena Hallinan, including her ethnic background, preferences, and birth date/location before allowing himself to contact her. He usually exercised such scrutiny prior to approaching anyone. Just to be safe.

_Well,_ he decided, _I cannot hide here forever. I have a tedious dinner to trudge through, and Juliet is right: this is for my own good, and _I_ myself have chosen to do this, so there is no one to blame. I must complain to myself noiselessly, or Mum and Dad will become wary and suspicious. Despite their encouraging words, they're far from slacking off on me. Both of them know all too well that it is irrational to assume I have changed whole-heartedly this early on._

He rose from his meditative position and opened the door. 

A sudden urge to look up the word 'acorn' swept over him. Artemis nearly choked from the overwhelming desire. He knew what an acorn was, but he craved the official definition from a Merriam Webster dictionary. Somewhere inside of him, he desperately hoped that the entry would include something about faeries, because acorns and faeries are unmistakably related, but he forgot how. 

Then, a proceeding thought struck him. For two years, he didn't know something. For _two_ _years_, he, Artemis Fowl, the boy genius, didn't know how acorns and faeries were related. The worst part of the misfortune was his ignorance. He didn't realize the lack until now.

Artemis was going to memorize the official definition. If it didn't incorporate faeries, he would return to his room and cry.

He hadn't scrambled so fast in months. The boy went downstairs to the library, turned to his left, and found the eleventh edition of the Merriam-Webster dictionary. He fumbled clumsily through the pages, feeling light and possessed. Something was making him extremely emotional. Absolute zero - abyss, accuracy - à cheval - _ah_! 

acorn: _noun_ [ME _akern_, fr. OE _aecern_; akin to MHG _ackeran_ acorns collectively, Russ _yagoda_ berry] the nut of the oak usually seated in or surrounded by a hard woody cupule of indurated bracts.

Again and again, he read the section on page ten, but there was no mention of the word 'faerie' anywhere. By his seventh read, he had the words burned agonizingly into his mind. Repetition made him shallow and hopeless. 

He was never going to find out. 

Waves of despair settled in, something which had never tangibly happened before. Artemis shoved the dictionary away and went up into his room, numbed. He locked his door securely; then, he sat on his bed. 

Slowly, his eyes began to freeze, like the coming symptoms of Ebola. Artemis tried desperately to look at something - preferably something _interesting _in his room, before his eyes refused to move forever. 

A poster of the hypothetical hyperspace stuck half-heartedly on the northern wall. He studied that a long time ago, so nothing was enthralling there. Opposite that, he sloppily taped an essay by Fidel Castro, printed on an obviously poor printer, as the ink marks were buoyant and fuzzy. The ceiling was designed lamely, despite the grandeur of his habitat. He considered searching for his CD player to listen to Chopin, but his eyes…they never moved...

The boy was too lazy to make his eyes wander over his cluttered table for the player…

Artemis snapped out of the trance, almost embarrassed at this experience. Instinctively, he looked at his fingers. They resembled void more than anything else did. 

Presently, he remembered faintly contributing to Théorie des Quanta, a collection of analects regarding quantum theory. He remembered – _faintly_ – something about tachyons...and he wrote about a vague concept of void...

Artemis couldn't remember, though, when he last cried. He couldn't remember even faintly, which may mean he never had. Or he had, but his longing for forgetting it was so strong, he drove this out of his memory. And replaced it with a hypothetical, subatomic particle.

His hands felt something wet on them, like the foreshadowings of an imminent storm. 

Now they looked less than void, but not much less.


End file.
